


wonder if he'll ever know, he's in the best selling show

by TheBestDetective



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Exhibitionism, Feelings, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Sex Tapes, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:47:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27760996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBestDetective/pseuds/TheBestDetective
Summary: Arthur couldn’t decide what he wanted to grab and slam against the wall more, Eames or the camera.Eames makes a sex tape and Arthur participates.
Relationships: Arthur/Eames (Inception)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 56





	wonder if he'll ever know, he's in the best selling show

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not a native English speaker, so forgive me for any mistakes.
> 
> The title is from "Life on Mars?" from David Bowie.
> 
> Enjoy!

„Eames.“

No reaction.

„ _Eames,_ “ Arthur tried again, looking up from his laptop. „Eames, for fucks sake— “

„What is it, my dear Arthur?“ Eames said, barely acknowledging him from where he was perched on the table in the middle of the hotel room. Arthur barely managed to restrain the impulse to say _That is mahogany!_ in a scandalised voice.

The situation had been like this for the entire morning, afternoon and evening since Eames got his hands on a video camera that he had found while searching the flat of the mark on their current job.

 _The situation_ being Eames discovering his apparent interest for the art of filmmaking, since the video tape was empty and therefore didn’t bring any use to the job. So Eames had taken it upon himself to put the recorder to good use and started creating cinematic short films in the form of homemade movies, most of which starred the muddy streets of Paris, the Eiffel tower, random people, random peoples _dogs_ , Arthur of course, and at least five close-ups of Arthurs ass.

Telling Eames off was a futile task that Arthur had given up on sometime around lunch, so ignoring him it was. Until now.

“Could you _please_ stop pointing the camera at me?” Arthur said, levelling Eames with his best work-stare. “Either that, or continue your antics of in your own room.”

Eames hummed and let the arm holding the camera hang down over the back of the seat he had migrated to. “Not a fan of being in the spotlight, darling?”

“Not for a whole _day_ , no.”

“Could just tell me to go now, couldn’t you?” Eames drawled, one of his lips quirking up as he lifted the camera back up to his face.

And yeah, Arthur thought, he could tell Eames off, but then again, he could have done it when Eames had followed him to this hotel room and made himself at home. And Arthur let him, because— well.

The last few months had been new territory for him in regards to his business relationship with Eames, in that it had transformed into less business-y areas, and by that, Arthur meant that they had started to fuck on a regular basis when a job brought them together.

When they started this whole thing, Arthur was more than fine with it. Getting off after (or during) a stressful job with someone who didn’t make things awkward sounded perfect. Uncomplicated and perfect. And it was, until Arthur started to think about Eames when they weren't in the bedroom, when he started to laugh at Eames jokes after too many celebratory drinks, and when he caught himself staring at Eames in team meetings for no other reason than to simply _look_ at him.

Arthur's heart was a traitor, and when he realized he’d started to fall for Eames, it was already too late. Not that he’d ever let it show on the outside.

He _should_ stop their little fling before it blew up in his face, but then again, everybody had their vices.

Arthur's was _Eames_ , apparently.

So, when Eames had followed him back to his room, Arthur had assumed – judging from previous experiences – that the night would end up with both of them in bed, satisfied and sore. Not with Eames enthusiastically filming a dripping faucet or the tall fern by the window and Arthur being left to pull up his laptop on the couch to reluctantly do some more work.

“Do something interesting, Arthur, will you?” Eames voice brought Arthur back to the present moment.

Arthur sighed and looked between Eames and the camera.

For a few moments, they were locked into a staring contest until Arthur slowly raised his eyebrows and tried to conveyed his best _I swear to God, Eames, leave it-_ look.

It didn’t work, because Eames just gave him a quick little smile that Arthur would have described as fond, if it was anyone else but Eames.

“I _am_ doing something interesting, thank you very much.” Arthur said. He went back to pretending to work and Eames went back to composing the next Oscar-winning movie, it seemed. _This material has potential, Arthur, I’m telling you._

Arthur contemplated switching over to play solitaire when he felt Eames creep up behind him.

“What’re you working on?” Eames asked over Arthur’s shoulder as he leaned against the back of the sofa.

“Sending a few last mails out to the chemist,” Arthur said, well aware of Eames watching the screen over his shoulder. The mails weren't necessary, of course. Eames knew as well as him that it was just a way to pass time and keep up professional pretence. Because for all the stuff they did in bed, they hadn't actually talked about how they’d spend the time together when they _weren't_ in bed, so Arthur felt—not uneasy, but not fully sure either.

Being at work was different – a (more or less) professional environment with other people didn’t leave much room for questioning the weird state that was their relationship.

After a few minutes, Arthur felt his neck prickling with Eames breath and his gaze _and_ the camera all focused on him and he couldn’t decide what he wanted to grab and slam against the wall more, Eames or the camera.

He stilled his fingers and without the rhythmic clicking of the keyboard, Arthur was suddenly _very_ aware of the heat of Eames body behind him. Their last job together had been four months ago, and while sex had never been a necessity like breathing or eating for Arthur, he might have gotten used to the attention Eames gave him in bed. He ignored the rational part in his brain that told him that he _could_ have been with sleeping with other people. Now that he thought about it, Arthur might have gotten used to Eames in general, period.

Arthur swallowed. Eames didn’t say anything, just kept pointing the camera at Arthur's fingers.

“Why did you stop?” Eames asked, his breath tickling Arthur's ear. “The mail isn’t finished. There still the _Sincerely, Arthur_ that’s missing. Or a _Wishing You A Wonderful Day, Yours Truly, Arthur._ ”

Arthur huffed out a laugh. “The best that Jones is getting is a _Regards.”_ Arthur said, slightly turning his head so his nose grazed Eames ear. _“Best Regards,_ if I’m feeling generous.”

“Hm. And are you?” Eames asked. The low timbre of his voice nearly made Arthur shiver. Heat spread from his neck down to his chest. They weren't really talking about emails anymore, but at the same time, Arthur didn’t know what topic exactly it was they moved on to.

“Are you going to put that camera away anytime soon this evening?” Arthur decided to ask instead, trying to shoot his shot.

Eames gave a non-committal noise and didn’t move save for his finger that played with the collar of Arthur's shirt, not quite dipping under, just teasing. “Why? Have something in mind that we could do?”

Arthur thought about closing his laptop and going back to his own room, but decided against it when he felt Eames pressing a featherlight kiss behind his ear. Arthur swallowed again. He felt his breath hitch for just a second. Eames was generally a very good lover, as much as it pained Arthur to admit it, but there weren't many times where Eames was so carefully gentle with him. When he was drunk, Eames sometimes took his time, and Arthur – being equally tipsy – may have let him do what he wanted to without much complaint once or twice.

Arthur tried to not make it into a habit. Detached, no-strings attached hook-ups were better that whatever it was they’d accidentally stumbled into a few times before. Not that anyone had made a comment about it the morning after.

“You could start, if you want to.”

“Start,” Arthur said, frowning, while he tried to understand what the hell Eames was referring to. “Start what?”

“Start with the second part of the evening, Arthur,” he clarified and then gave Arthur's earlobe a teasing bite and _oh_ , now Arthur's brain got with the program as the felt a spike of arousal in his chest.

He let out a deep breath and turned his head, but— Eames was still holding the camera. Pointing it down at Arthur's lap.

No. Oh, no.

 _Fuck no_.

Arthur couldn’t believe that he wasn’t on to Eames from the start and he felt like an idiot. _Of course_ , he would use that camera for nefarious, naughty things.

At the same time thought, Arthur felt his stomach clench in what he firmly told himself was disgust and affront.

“You can't be serious,” he said, partly to himself.

Doing any kind of sexual act on camera was never on his bucket list because it was _stupid_. And Arthur was a lot of things, but he didn’t consider _plainly stupid_ to be one of them.

“Oh, I’m very serious,” Eames said, voice muffled from nibbling at Arthur's neck. At least he didn’t play dumb.

Eames didn’t stop the attention he was giving Arthur's neck. “I’m not—Jesus, Eames I’m not making a _sex tape_ ,” Arthur hissed, outraged at the fact that his body apparently had no hang ups for Eames’ crazy suggestion. What kind of leverage, what kind of blackmail material Eames could have on him with this was just insane.

(Not that Arthur would let himself be blackmailed with this kind of material, he's a professional after all. But he’d like it if it didn’t come to the situation at all. It was about the principle.)

“Well, it’s not a sex tape _yet_ , darling,” Eames said, voice sultry and deep, “there’s just you in it, touching your cock for me.” He was entirely too casual for the words that left his mouth. Arthur’s fingers twitched.

“Just to offer a little specificity.” Eames added, because he was a dick.

And, fuck. It was enough for Arthur to _consider_ doing it. Or rather, for him to not outright stop Eames from doing it to him. Which, in his case was basically the same thing, if he was being honest.

Arthur had never been one for straight up exhibitionism, so why he suddenly felt hot all over was beyond him.

His breath had started to pick up and _Jesus Christ,_ he was close to getting hard. Eames moved then, switching the camera into his other hand, so that Arthur could feel the cool edge of it on his skin. He leaned forward to take hold of Arthur's laptop, which had gone into screensaving mode by now and pushed it to the other end of the couch.

With his lap now bare, Arthur didn’t know what to do with his hands all of a sudden. A second later, Eames hand was covering his right wrist and he put Arthur's hand to the inside of his thighs, gentle but firm. He pushed it up the inseam of Arthur's pants and then slowly, deliberatly he pressed down right over the bulge in Arthur's crotch and— _fuck_.

The bone-deep relief of finally getting stimulation rapidly mixed with the growing realisation that Eames was _filming this._

“Eames—“ Arthur started, but the words were stuck in his throat and he wasn’t even sure if he wanted to voice his protest or tell Eames to continue. He just let Eames press both of their hands down over his clothed cock in little back and forth motions. If he wasn’t careful, Arthur's pants would be ruined soon.

“Yes?” Eames said, purposefully coy. “What is it?” Arthur felt at a loss of words all at once. Distantly, he was shocked that he let this whole thing continue up to this point, but then again, Eames was good at steering people into the direction he wanted them to.

Not that it took much persuasion on Arthur's side. Eames was certainly not forcing Arthur to do any of the things he was doing right now. Sure, he was pushing, and that quite a lot at times, but Arthur was very skilled in various fighting techniques that would put Eames flat on his ass in less than 2 seconds and Eames was well aware of that, but that’s a measure that Arthur had never had to resort to. Not with Eames. Mostly, it took all but a scathing glance — that made lesser men shrivel back in shame —for Eames to back off.

“Just— yeah. Like that,” Eames murmured absentmindedly and Arthur felt hot and heavy under his suit pants. The rough material of his pants gave the head of Arthur's cock _delicious_ friction.

The camera was still trained on their hands and then Eames said, “Just a bit more, yeah?” before his hand disappeared from Arthur's and he moved to unbutton Arthur pants and the slid the zipper down, less smooth than if he had two hands available.

Arthur's breath was ragged already and then Eames fumbled Arthur's pants open and then he took Arthur's hand and slid it under his underwear and—

“ _Fuck,_ ” Arthur said, throwing his head back against the couch. It made the camera dig into his neck and Arthur felt his blood rush south so fast he became dizzy for a moment.

“Wait, let’s—” Eames started and then leaned back to throw the hand with the camera over to Arthur's other side so that he could hook his chin over Arthur's shoulder. He pressed his mouth to Arthur's neck in a quick peck.

It was that kiss, unthinkingly delicate in contrast to Eames rough breath, that made Arthur's blood rush in his ears and he let out a barely supressed moan before he caught himself.

He could feel Eames’ harsh exhale beside him and with startling clarity he was aware that every little sound he made would be captured on video, every grunt and moan and gasp. All the evidence of Arthur's want and desire _for Eames,_ documented.

Arthur looked down at Eames hand flexing on his thigh, at his rumpled shirt and his own hand moving under the layer of his pants almost at their own will; and _fuck it_ , Arthur thought in what he would later call an infatuation of pure hysteria: in for a penny, in for a dime.

Arthur scrambled for purchase as he lifted his hips to push down his pants and Eames was quick to help him along after an initial beat of confusion.

“Arthur,” Eames said, fully enraptured as Arthur took himself in hand, now without any barrier in the way, “darling, do you know what you’re doing to me? God, come on, touch yourself for me, yes.”

Eames was babbling and Arthur's chest was burning with need and want and something else entirely and he moaned again, only this time he tried to muffle the sound in Eames arm, and just realizing how loud all of this would be on video made his cock twitch in his hand. Eames groaned.

“See? I told you it was good, Arthur, I can't believe you’re doing this,” Eames said, voice deep and full of wonder, as if he didn’t believe his eyes. Arthur himself couldn’t fully comprehend what was going on right now.

Eames pulled his hand back up to Arthur's collar and went to work on his shirt buttons. Arthur had lost his tie right after walking through the door, because while he might be a sucker for a good suit-ensemble, he also had a limit on how many hours a day he could stay trapped in a tight collared shirt and tie.

Eames hands weren't shaking, but there was a faint tremor to his actions and it seemed like he waged an internal battle between taking things slow and savouring them or just ripping Arthur's shirt off all the way.

Arthur could relate all too well.

Over the next few minutes, Eames murmured things like _slower_ or _yeah, faster_ or _c’mon Arthur_. Arthur made a strangled noise. “You can't shut up, can you?”

“Hmm, you love it when I talk to you,” Eames said, laughing a little. He had gotten most of the shirt unbuttoned and apparently deemed it enough to reach the tender skin where Arthur's neck met his shoulders and peppered him with wet, open-mouthed kisses.

“Keep telling yourself that,” Arthur said, voice strained.

Arthur felt overwhelmed and that in itself was a feat not easily accomplished, at least purely with sex. The feeling of Eames hot breath hot on his neck and Arthur's own hand working on his cock was far from the most scandalous position he had found himself in, but all of it being filmed made it borderline _obscene_.

“Tell me what you’re thinking about,” Eames said, nudging Arthur's head gently with his nose.

“Fuck you,” Arthur said, momentarily shocked how breathy his voice sounded. He may have gotten himself in trouble with letting Eames film what he was doing, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to _talk_ through it. He shook his head but couldn’t take his eyes away from where his cock peeked through his fist on every stroke, hard and red.

He was hyperaware of every twitch, every movement of his body but also every flaw and unfortunate angle and it sent his head spinning. He thought he might go crazy.

“Are you close?” Eames breathed, his whole body now staying still, his eyes intensely focused on Arthur's cock. Arthur turned his head as much as it was possible and his nose grazed Eames cheek, rough with stubble, his lips slightly parted.

Eames got like this, sometimes. Focused, concentrated on what he was doing. Arthur didn’t consider jacking off while he was still mostly clothed a fascinating or highly sleazy thing, but Eames acted like it was; like he had to get his fill of looking at Arthur or he might never get a chance again.

Eames focus on him in addition to the camera made Arthur squirm and writhe around his own hand.

Shifting again, Eames adjusted his grip on the camera, which he had neglected in the last few minutes. Arthur couldn’t bear to look at himself anymore, couldn’t stand the vision, so he settled on leaning his head back against the couch, closing his eyes. Eames promptly took advantage of his exposed throat and sucked marks onto Arthur's neck, far down enough to hide them with the collar of his shirt. Eames left a visible hickey on Arthur exactly _once_ and Arthur gave him hell for it after. Right now, though, he couldn’t care less.

“Arthur, are you close?” Eames repeated his earlier question and with a start, Arthur realized that he _was_ , that he’s going to come just from jerking himself off and it’s going to be on camera and Eames isn’t even doing anything save for driving Arthur _insane-_

It wasn’t much longer and Arthur could feel the pressure in his stomach, deep down. With Eames whispering sweet nothings like _fuck, yes_ and _come for me_ and _like this, darling, fuck yourself for me_ he felt himself tensing up and with a sharp almost-too-much bite on his neck from Eames he started to come all over his hand and his shirt, making a mess of his clothes.

It had felt like an eternity, but in reality, Arthur probably hadn't lasted for very long. A few minutes at most, but once he got going, the scrutiny of Eames and the camera combined made him crawl out of his skin in a mind-numbingly good way.

He didn’t give himself the satisfaction of basking in the afterglow, instead choosing to wipe his clammy hands on his now ruined trousers. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to make sense of what the fuck just happened. He twitched as he felt Eames hand on his stomach, dragging his fingers through his come. Arthur opened his eyes and was ready to complain but the words died in his mouth as he watched Eames bring his finger up to his mouth and _suck_.

God. _Fuck._

Arthur's cock may or may not have given a desperate twitch as Eames’ lips wrapped around his fingers, Arthur's come disappearing in his mouth. His eyes stayed firmly on Arthur's, and so Arthur didn’t have another choice but to grab Eames by the neck and pull him in, kissing him firmly. It was the same hand Arthur had used on himself and in a far-off thought it occurred to him that he was probably smearing his own come into Eames hair.

From the way Eames gasped into his mouth, Arthur figured he didn’t much give a shit right now.

They kissed hot and deep and in Eames case, slightly urgent. The camera lay forgotten on the couch, Eames having dropped it to in favour of raking his hands through Arthur's hair.

“Christ, Arthur,” Eames kissed back with more heat and noise, making Arthur feel dizzy so soon after coming.

At some point, Arthur couldn’t ignore the crick in his neck anymore and had to pull back. Eames harshly exhaled and dropped his forehead against the back of the couch before Arthur could get a good look at his face.

Arthur used the break to lean forward to take his pants off all the way. There was no use in buttoning up again with how ruined the already were. When he turned around, Eames had disappeared and instead laid back against the bed with his feet still on the floor, one hand in his pants and the other thrown over his face.

Without thinking, Arthur was on the bed in less than five big steps, straddling Eames. He momentarily felt stupid wearing nothing his open shirt, but Eames opened his eyes and cursed under his breath. Eames grabbed his thigh and slid his hand up Arthur's hip.

“You need some help with that?” Arthur asked, cocking his head down at Eames’ lap.

Eames laugh turned into a groan as Arthur pulled his pants down as far as their position allowed it and slid his hand over Eames to help him along and eventually take over stroking his cock.

“Fuck, how fast can you get hard again?” Eames growled.

Not fast enough, Arthur begrudgingly thought. The day had been long and he wasn’t a fucking teenager anymore.

“Why,” Arthur asked, leaning forward so that his lips almost touched Eames, “you want me to fuck you?”

“God, _yes_ ,” Eames said, pulling Arthur in for the last few inches and kissed him hard, lips wet and pliant.

And fuck, Arthur really wanted to, but not even Eames could make him get it up again _that_ fast. Instead, he put his hand up to Eames face and told him to _open up_ and then he slid his fingers into Eames’ mouth. It was so, so easy to lose himself in the slide of Eames’ tongue against his fingers, because Eames _knew_ what it did to Arthur, he knew how to rile him up with putting on a show.

Arthur looked up and saw Eames watching him, his lips turning upwards despite the fact that his mouth was otherwise occupied.

Arthur pulled back, ignored Eames whine and tried to balance himself enough that he could fumble his way down into Eames pants and behind his balls.

“ _Fuck,”_ Eames bucked up so hard he almost knocked Arthur's teeth out and Arthur felt exhilarated. Eames was always so responsive when something came near his ass, and that was a fact that Arthur used shamelessly, regularly and repeatedly.

Arthur had worked two fingers inside Eames by the time he was cursing and squirming, letting Arthur touch him, and then Eames bucked up once, twice more and tensed up, clenching around his fingers. He came with a deep, drawn out _fuuuuck_ while clutching the sheets, and Arthur leaned back from where he was peppering kisses down Eames sternum.

“Hope that was to your satisfaction, Mister Eames,” Arthur said, aiming for suave though his slightly hoarse voice no doubt betrayed him.

Eames huffed out a laugh. His eyes were still closed and he absentmindedly stroked a hand over the goosebumps on Arthur's thigh.

“Oh trust me, darling,” He said, grunting as he sat up, “tonight’s activities were _thoroughly_ in my favour.”

Eames moved to slide his hands up Arthur's back but Arthur was having none of it. He entangled himself from Eames’ half-embrance and stood up.

“Yes, well about that,” Arthur said, haphazardly gesturing towards the direction of the camera, “you _better_ delete that.”

“Delete it?” Eames asked indignantly, though still breathing hard. He dragged his hand over his face and pushed his hair out of his eyes, making it stick up almost adorably. He leaned back on his elbows and watched Arthur collect his clothes, piece by piece. He looked ridiculous, lounging on the bed with his clothes still on but his dick out. “What sense is there in filming it and then deleting it? What _fun_ is there in deleting it?”

Arthur didn’t spare him a glance. His knees still felt wobbly and his heart was only now slowing down from its jackrabbit pace. “Well, it’s not _you_ jacking off on film, is it?”

He felt his face heat in what was definitely embarrassment.

“Why even keep it, Eames?” Arthur said, mostly as a rhetorical question.

“So I can look at it whenever you’re not there.” Eames replied. The _and get off on it_ was heavily implied.

Arthur busied himself with cleaning up in the ensuite bathroom. “Just get someone else to hook up with, you won't have a problem with that.”

He didn’t mean for it to come out quite so cynical, but Arthur couldn’t help himself. Every time he and Eames finished fucking, Arthur felt the impending sense of irritation that he was just one of many of Eames conquests, albeit a more regular one. Truth be told, he didn’t know how many people Eames slept with besides him, but he assumed there had to be at least a few others.

Arthur tampered his feelings down as much as possible and went back to splashing cold water into his face.

“Don’t really want someone else, though.”

Arthur froze. He was glad that Eames couldn’t see him from his vantage point on the bed, because his mind started to run in overdrive. It couldn’t mean what Arthur thought it meant. They were talking about _Eames_ , of all people.

Arthur put on his boxer briefs and went to lean against the doorframe in an attempt to seem casual.

“Haven't really slept with anyone else since we started this anyways, so.” Eames said, still lying on the bed, arms lazily crossed over his chest while staring up at the ceiling.

“What do you mean?” Arthur asked quietly. Eames shrugged as he pulled up his pants as best as possible. He didn’t look at Arthur as he stood up to go to the bathroom, but Arthur blocked his way in a sudden need for confrontation.

Eames looked at him with a blank face. “Can I, y’know …” He gestured towards the sink.

“Eames what the hell do you mean when you say— “

“Bloody hell, Arthur, just forget it.” Eames snarled, rolling his eyes.

“No, you know what? Fuck _you_ for always starting something and then just brushing it aside!” Arthur snapped, pointing at Eames. “First you want to film me to jerking off, then you— what? Tell me you live as a monk when I’m not here? Why would you tell me that? You always get my fucking hopes up for a minute before I remember who we are and what it is that we’re doing and I just—“ Arthur trailed off, shaking his head.

He crossed his arms, trying to keep down the feeling of panic as he realized how much he’d just revealed. Eames eyes were trained on him in an entirely different context than just minutes ago.

“Whatever you may think of me, Arthur, I didn’t actually _plan_ the jerking off thing, alright? It just _happened_ and you went with it and—wait, what do you mean, _get your hopes up?_ ” Eames finished, frowning at Arthur inquiringly.

Well, fuck. Now Arthur had run himself into a dead end, because telling Eames to fuck off would be quite hypocritical.

Truth be told, he was tired of pretending to feel nothing, so he might as well see what’s going to happen, how bad it’s going to end. The evening was surreal enough already.

It was Arthur's turn to shrug, though his shoulders were a tense line. He felt like he might puke.

“I just, sometimes I don’t want this to be _just_ fucking.” Arthur said, forcing his jaw to unclench. “Between us, I mean. And I know that _relationship_ is a strong word, especially in our profession and with what we do, but—“ He broke off, angry at himself that they were even having this conversation.

Arthur wasn’t an idiot, he knew that their fling would end eventually, but he rather expected it to be with Eames not coming back to him or with one or either or _both_ of them dying _or_ just with a big fight. Not with Arthur pathetically admitting that he would like to have Eames to himself and Eames having to let him down gently, but awkwardly.

Fuck. He’s seldom that vulnerable, and it made him feel sick. Maybe he could still turn this into a big fight to save the last shreds of this dignity.

Eames though, Eames blinked and looked like someone just talked to him in a foreign language that he slowly had to decipher. There was a slow understanding spreading over his face and his frown changed as he realized what Arthur had said.

“You’d like to be my boyfriend.”

“That makes it sound like we’re teenagers, Eames.” Arthur deflected.

“But that’s what you want, right?”

“To be a teenager?“

“No, Arthur, to be my boyfriend.” Eames clarified, purposefully choosing to ignore Arthur being intentionally obtuse.

Arthur shrugged again. He felt like he’d been doing nothing but shrugging for the last five minutes. “I guess.” Might as well be honest, now.

Eames said nothing. Then, he looked down to where his hands had been steadily wringing his shirt.

Eames got fidgety after sex. They’re good and done for, lying spent on the bed and Eames will start to play with the sheets, some clothes or the fucking condom wrapper. Once, he played with Arthur's finger when he thought Arthur was asleep.

Arthur had no idea where it came from. Some subliminal desire to check his totem, maybe. Or he just had energy left to burn. Whatever it was, it made Arthur's chest feel tight, because it’s such an _Eames_ thing to do, and Arthur will have to stay away from him for a long time before he could even attempt to look him in the eyes again when this was all over.

“Huh.” Eames said after a while, looking back up at Arthur. “You guess.” His lips twitch upward. “Well, then I guess I’d like that too.”

Now Arthur's the one who’s mind couldn’t comprehend language. Or at least not the words that just left Eames mouth. Did he just—?

“I can hear you overthinking, Arthur.”

 _Yeah, because I am_ , he wanted to say, but forced himself to focus. Eames wanted him. Eames _waned_ him. At least for now, and— fuck.

And then Eames smiled at him, bright like the sun, and Arthur was confused, so confused by all of this, but he let himself smile back and then Eames leaned in and they're kissing again. It’s exhilarating in a completely different way, with Eames hand on his cheek and his other hand around Arthur's waist.

“You want to,” Arthur started, breaking the kiss for a moment, “you want this to be a thing.”

“Yes, that’s what I meant, in case that wasn’t clear.”

“Yeah, well. Yes. Alright, okay …” Arthur trailed off before he could embarrass himself further.

They’d have to talk about this eventually, Arthur thought, but for now—

The kiss wasn’t chaste, but it was a kiss that stood on its own, that didn’t promise an immediate urgency of _more_. It was a kiss for kissings sake, and Arthur was breathless with it.

Eames stepped into his space and pressed himself against Arthur more, held him closer and the kiss turned sultry and sweet and Arthur couldn’t hear anything besides the blood rushing in his ears.

Eames broke away after a few minutes and cleared his throat. “I’m very sorry to break the spell we have going here, but I _really_ need to clean up.”

“Oh, do you?” Arthur hummed, amused.

“Yeah, well, some guy put his fingers in my arse and made me come all over myself, so.” Eames said, giving him a cheeky smile in return.

Arthur couldn’t stop grinning. As he moved to free the doorway, Eames leaned in close and gave Arthur's earlobe a gentle bite before he added, “not that I’m complaining.”

Arthur slapped his ass in reconciliation.

He could still hear Eames’ laugh long after he’d closed the door to the bathroom.

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr is [iwonderifthatisart](https://iwonderifthatisart.tumblr.com/) if you want to pay me a visit.
> 
> I'd love to hear what you think in the comments!


End file.
